


I'll Miss You When I Have to Let You Go

by IndigoFudge



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Death Rituals, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is Temporarily Dead, Eddie's days are unfortunately numbered, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, POV Third Person Omniscient, Resurrection, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26489989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoFudge/pseuds/IndigoFudge
Summary: The good news is that Richie can bring Eddie back from the dead.The bad news is this:1. It only works for 24 hours at a time.2. Each performance of the ritual needs a blood sacrifice.3. Richie has a finite amount of blood.But for a while, at least, Richie and Eddie can love, be loved, laugh, watch sunsets, eat ice cream, go for walks, hug, cuddle, go to the movies, and get closure.Nothing lasts forever - apparently not even the good things.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Richie slices his forehead open, he is grossly unprepared for the amount of blood that comes gushing from the wound.

He's already got the eglantine flowers for healing, the witch hazel for magic spells, and the stinging nettles for life and death. The blood is the last step, symbolizing how he's willing to sacrifice his own life, or some shit. He was kind of in a hurry when he read the ritual, so sue him. The gist of it was that plants and blood symbolize life - the life he is restoring to the dead body lying in front of him.

" _Fuck!"_ he exclaims, scrambling for the bowl and holding it under the flow, collecting it until the leaves and flowers are all covered. Then he presses the white towels from the Townhouse bathroom to his forehead as his vision swims in and out. "May- _fuck!_ \- may my sacrifice of lifeblood serve to give life back to this-" He hisses sharply. "-to this _fuckingbodybeforeme! Amen! So mote it be! Shitfuckshit-"_

Dizziness overtakes him, and he falls backwards, narrowly avoiding spilling the bowl. _Huh,_ he thinks. _Since when was there two of everything in this room?_

And then he blacks out.

* * *

"You're the stupidest fucking person I've ever met."

Richie opens his eyes into a squint. There's a blurry face above him. For a second, he can't remember what happened or where he is, but then it hits him like a ton of bricks. Literally, because as soon as Eddie sees he's awake, he throws a bag at him.

_Eddie!_

"Eds!" Richie gasps, attempting to sit up. Immediately he's flooded by nausea and has to lie back down. "Oh, Eddie! It worked!"

"What worked?" Eddie picks the bowl up, shaking it. "What the fuck is this? What is this, Richie? Herbs and _blood_? I'm dead for, what, _a day,_ judging by the date on your phone - which you should really have a passcode on, asshole, this isn't secure, what if someone stole it? what would you do then? - and you perform a fucking blood ritual to bring me back? Sorry to burst your bubble, but you're not Harry Potter, you shouldn't be trying to make potions and reanimate dead people."

Richie responds with a sob. He sits up slower this time, and pulls Eddie into a hug. "It worked," he says again, his voice muffled.

Eddie's voice softens. "Yeah. I've got to hand it to you, Rich, you sure know your witchcraft." Gently, he hugs Richie back. They fit perfectly against each other, curled up in a patch of sunlight on the dingy carpet that smells vaguely like cigarette smoke. It's not a pretty hug - Richie's forehead is crusted with blood; Eddie's a fucking zombie - but it's perfect.

"I went and got you from under Neibolt," mumbles Richie. He laughs through his tears. "Don't know what I was thinking, I _am_ fucking stupid, but I just had to see you again, I couldn't... leave things like that."

Eddie doesn't ask any questions. The tone of Richie's voice is solemn and raw enough to give him an inkling of the meaning. But that's a problem for later. "Oh," he says quietly. "Should we, uh. Go tell the others?"

"Yeah! Yeah," Richie says, sniffling. He stands up and dusts himself off; one of his hands finds Eddie's and holds it tightly before he remembers _keep your goddamn hands to yourself, Trashmouth_ , and lets go. "Bev! Ben! Bill! Mike! Wake up and get your asses in here!"

Bev screams the second she opens the door. Richie doesn't blame her. Apart from her undead best friend, the floor is covered in blood and plants and old pages from a book that have fallen out of the binding. " _Eddie?!"_ Her mouth opens and closes, speechless.

Ben appears next to her, tears glinting in his eyes; Mike and Bill come up behind. They're all staring at Eddie in nervous wonder.

"Richie thinks he's a necromancer," Eddie says. "The last thing I remember is watching you guys kill It, and then I died, and then suddenly I was waking up _here_ of all places to find Richie unconscious after _slicing his fucking head open_ in order to bring me back to life. I scanned the instructions, they're from, like, the 1800s. No clue why he thought that would be trustworthy or work at all."

"It did." Bev finds her voice. "I mean- just-" She tentatively walks over to Eddie, grabbing at his arms as if to check that it's really him. Her hair is messy from sleep; her eyes smudged with dark circles. "Eds, we didn't- I didn't think I'd ever see you again." 

Eddie hugs her as she cries. "I'm here," he says carefully. "But not... for good." 

Richie winces. 

"What do you mean?" Ben is now fully in the room, one hand on Bev's shoulder and one hand on Eddie's. 

"The spell is temporary," Eddie says. "I read the papers on the floor. It only works for 24 hours." He smiles sadly, hating the broken looks on everyone's faces. 

Richie stares at Eddie desperately. "But Eds, it can be done more than once. So I'll just do it again tomorrow. You'll be sticking around for more than just a day, I promise. I know how much blood there'll be, next time I'll be prepared and won't pass out."

 _I want to stay_ , Eddie thinks. _I want him to keep bringing me back. It's stupid and selfish, but...._ He swallows. " _Only_ for a few more days." Even though he knows it'll be more than that, he knows there's no way that he or Richie will be content after only 36 more hours together. There are so many things he needs to say, so many things he needs to do, so many loose ends he needs to tie up. He wants to watch the sunrise, he wants to go hiking, he wants to ride bikes with his friends again, he wants to go see a movie with Richie and then eat ice cream while almost holding hands. 

He wants to _live_ , goddamnit.

Bill and Mike are still hanging back. "It's good to see you, Eddie," Bill says hoarsely, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry, you probably don't want to-"

" _Bill_ ," Eddie breathes, squeezing Bill into a bear hug. "I missed you, man." He wipes tears from his eyes and hugs Mike too. "And you, Mikey. I don't know what you're thinking, but just- I love you guys. You better not be..." _Blaming yourselves_ is what he wants to say, but he stops; he wants to assure them but not assume, so he just trails off and lets the unfinished sentence stay in the air.

Richie claps his hands before the silence can get too awkward. "So! Whaddaya want to do today, Spaghetti? Money is not an issue. We've got the Barrens, the clubhouse, downtown, the new movie theater, the library... I guess Hannaford too, you're just as much of a stick in the mud as you were when we were kids, so maybe you want to go grocery shopping? My point is, you're in control for the the _whole day!_ "

Everyone looks towards Eddie expectantly. He bows his head. "Honestly?" His voice is small. "I just want to spend time with you guys. Talk about things, you know? I don't really want a whole show. Can... can we please go to Tim's and get coffee or something?" 

Richie's heart breaks at the scared way Eddie asks it, as if there's any chance that they'll say no. "Of course!" He reaches towards Eddie's hand and then remembers he's not supposed to, but before he can snatch his own hand back Eddie takes it with a grin. 

"You're stuck with me now, Trashmouth," says Eddie.

"Good." Richie dares to smile, to look Eddie in the eyes. "No one else I'd rather spend the day with." _Be careful_ , his inner voice reminds him. _You wouldn't want him to know your dirty little secret._ It's not the clown's voice, not really - more like an amalgamation of every bully and homophobe Richie's ever encountered. Which obviously isn't ideal, but he's been dealing with it for so long that at least he's sort of good at tuning it out. 

Emphasis on _sort of._

_He'll find out what you're hiding and be so disgusted that he won't look at you ever again. He'll run away from you. He'll kill himself again just to escape! They'll all abandon you, just like they did twenty years ago,_ taunts the voice. Richie tries to calm his nerves but that just makes them worse. Before he can change his mind, he yanks his hand out of Eddie's grip, offering an apologetic smile in return. "Sorry," he says, his own voice sounding distant. He wants to give some excuse, wracks his brain to think of one, eventually settling on the lame "My hand was sweaty." 

Eddie stares down at his hand and then back up. He closes his mouth. "S'okay," he makes himself say, and then looks away so Richie can't see his tears. He shouldn't be crying over this. But there's been _so much_ that's happened in the past hour, and he's kind of at his tipping point. Focusing on the back of Bev's shirt to distract him from the heat rising in his cheeks, Eddie follows the others out of the room.

* * *

The conversation at Tim's turns to Eddie's death and subsequent revival when they've finished eating, which is to say all too quickly.

"So, Richie," Bev says, propping her chin up on one hand. "How did you find this- this spell? And how did you get Eddie's body?"

"The spell was, uh, in a book that was in Mikey's apartment above the library. He came over to stay at the Townhouse for the night - I don't know why, that apartment was pretty cool - so it was empty. I figured since he knows so much about tribal rituals that he must have had a book in there about necromancy, or... something." Richie gives a weak smile. Explaining his decisions requires him to tread carefully, especially when those decisions involve Eddie. He doesn't want his motivations to be revealed, he doesn't want the Losers to know how much he loves him, so he has to pay great attention to the words he chooses. "I went back to Neibolt after supper and wormed my way through the rubble like some sort of garbage mole rat until I found Eddie." _Eddie had been slumped against the wall, pinned down by rubble, face white underneath the dust that coated it, a trickle of dried blood from the corner of his mouth. I had to pick him up and get him out of there, I had to carry his_ corpse _through the sewer tunnels until we came out in the Barrens. I felt his dead weight in my arms._ Richie can still smell the blood.

Under the table, Eddie puts a hand on Richie's knee.

"What time did you... did the spell work?" asks Mike.

Richie blows out a breath. "Um... I guess, like, 7 AM?"

"It's 1 PM right now. We have Eddie for another 18 hours." Mike gives a reassuring smile. "It's going to be okay. We've just about exhausted every possible topic of conversation here, though, so where do you want to go next?"

Eddie settles on the Clubhouse. Before they leave he spends five minutes tidying up their table, stacking dishes and throwing away napkins. _It's the little things,_ he thinks, a little sadly. _Gotta make this world as good as it can be before I leave it, right? I'll get a week more, maybe two if I'm lucky, but after that it's over for me._ Then he walks away and doesn't look back.

As soon as they've all descended the ladder, Richie makes a beeline for the hammock. "Dibs!" he shouts, sitting his ass down in the center. But he doesn't get much of a chance to gloat because Eddie plops right down next to him, pressing himself up against Richie's body.

"Just... just like when we were kids, huh?" Eddie nudges Richie with his elbow. "You'd be a little shit and stay over your time limit, remember?" His eyes are misty. 

"Yeah," Richie says, blushing profusely. "I knew how to get a rise out of you. Still do." He ruffles Eddie's hair, making Eddie giggle, and _fuck he'd missed Eddie's laugh._

"Stop it, asshole!" exclaims Eddie. "You're just as annoying as you were twenty years ago." But his grin betrays him. He tries to distract himself from his impending doom and succeeds a little more with every passing second. If he pretends hard enough, it's almost like they're all kids again and everything is fine and he and Richie are together and Stan's there and no one got hurt and maybe Pennywise never existed, maybe Derry is a perfect town, maybe the air isn't suffocating with fear and that sick feeling you get when you know something's wrong but you can't put a finger on it. Maybe they are happy.

But that's not the reality.

 _Uh-oh, not now_ , Eddie thinks, feeling the walls of the Clubhouse closing in on him. Anxiety bursts in his head. He wraps his arms around himself, taking one gasping inhale and then another, but he'd burned his damn inhaler and now his pockets are empty and he can't _breathe_.

"What's going on?" Ben asks, concern flashing across his face. 

"Panic attack," shoots Richie, and then touches his forehead to Eddie's. "Eds? Eds, just breathe with me, buddy. Whatever you're thinking about, try to- try to think about my voice instead. Think about how you fucked my mother. You really Got Off A Good One then. You're doing good, that's it. In, out." He's talking in a hushed whisper to ensure that his words are only heard by one person.

"Richie, I miss-" Eddie wheezes. "Miss back then. None of us had forgotten and nothing had changed." Tears roll down his cheeks and he hates it, he hates crying in front of people. _In front of Richie, especially._

Richie fights the urge to kiss him. "We remember now," he says. "We remember everything. I remember everything. I remember you. That's why I did whatever it took to bring you back, because I _remembered_ and I-" He stops himself before he can reveal his secret. Fortunately no one seems to notice.

Eddie looks up. "I remember you too." He manages to take in a breath without his throat whistling. "Your stupid Hawaiian shirts and your glasses. You're exactly the fucking same." A teary laugh escapes him, because God, Richie really is the same. They all are. 

"We haven't changed," Mike says. "Not really. Not as much as you might think."

 _The world changed,_ Eddie decides. _Not us. We're still the same stupid kids... kids that love each other._ He straightens up, glancing at Richie gratefully. _At least Ben's love is requited._ But he masks his sadness with a smile and goes back to pretending things are good.

* * *

They head back to the Townhouse around 6 PM and mill about in the lobby for a bit, talking quietly and pouring themselves cocktails from the hotel bar, laughing at jokes that don't really make sense because if they don't laugh then the subject matter turns dark. Eventually everyone else goes to bed one at a time until it's just Richie and Eddie, sitting at the bar and nursing their drinks. They're so close that they can feel each other's body heat.

"I'm on fucking Death Row, man," Eddie breaks the silence by whispering, his voice scratchy. _Might as well address the elephant in the room,_ he figures. "You and I both know that this can't go on forever. Your body knows what to do when it gets hurt for the most part, but within a couple weeks it won't be able to make new blood fast enough, and then-"

"I don't want to think about that right now." Richie fixates his gaze on the melting ice in his glass. "I don't want to think about losing you again. It's been _twenty years_ and I just got you back. I just... I _just_ got you back. And then you had to go and die on me." He sniffs, taking his glasses off and setting them on the counter. 

Eddie puts a hesitant arm around Richie's shoulders. "Rich," he says. "Hey. We have at least another week. It's not over yet. One week, that's- that's seven times twenty-four, that's 168 hours. Think of all the things we can do in 168 hours. We can go bowling, we can ride our bikes, we can go see a movie, we can watch your shitty Netflix specials and critique all the sexist jokes you've made about your-..... girlfriend." His heart feels heavy. _Of course,_ he thinks. _I'm fucking stupid. How could I forget? Richie has a girlfriend._ He takes his arm away and rests it on the counter, cheeks burning.

"I don't have a girlfriend, Eds," says Richie. His heartbeat quickens; he blocks out the awful voice in his head and entwines his fingers with Eddie's. _Fuck, if I didn't make it obvious before, it's obvious now. There's no hiding it anymore. I just had to go and get tipsy and bare my fucking soul, right?_

"Mm?" Eddie hums, making eye contact. If Richie doesn't have a girlfriend, then- "I may be reading this totally wrong, but I die again in six hours and I really, ah... I'm getting..." He swallows, and before he can convince himself not to, he says: "Do you want to kiss?"

A couple seconds of quiet pass, punctuated only by the ticking of a distant clock, before Richie leans forward and touches his mouth to Eddie's. They both have alcohol breath and a day or two worth of stubble and kissing shares so many germs, Eddie _should_ be recoiling, but he presses himself closer and shuts his eyes. 

"My room's covered in blood and broken glass," Eddie says after the kiss is over. He looks at Richie with a pleading gaze. "Can I- I mean, if this isn't too much to ask, but- but we've shared beds before, as kids, and I don't want to fall asleep in my room because of the whole Bowers shit, and I know he's dead, but-"

"Of course." Richie cups Eddie's non-injured cheek in his hand. "Are you getting tired?"

Tears well up in Eddie's eyes as he realizes how exhausted he is. A sudden pain throbs in his chest. "Uh-huh." He yawns, standing up and stumbling.

Richie catches him. "Let's go," he says. Carefully, he helps Eddie walk upstairs; as they near the top he has to carry him. They collapse in Richie's bed and Richie tucks them both in. 

"'M sorry, it's just, it's been a long day," murmurs Eddie, resting his head on Richie's chest. "Being revived takes a lot out of you, I guess."

"Don't apologize." Richie gives him another long kiss. "Goodnight, Eds."

"Goodnight."

When Eddie dies that night, he's too deeply asleep to even feel it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie gets revived for a second time, and goes on a date with Richie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for brief calorie mention.

Richie wakes up holding a corpse, and no, that's not a euphemism for anything. He's holding an _actual corpse_ \- the corpse of his best friend. 

He carefully climbs out of bed and cups Eddie's cheek in his hand. It almost looks like he's just sleeping, like he'll wake up any second and say _stop touching my face_ while frowning and scrunching up his nose, but obviously he doesn't because he is dead.

So Richie does the only thing he can do: slices his forehead open again, says the same necromancy spell, and manages not to pass the fuck out this time because he is more prepared for the massive flow of blood. He rocks back and forth on his heels, pressing the towels to his head and watching Eddie expectantly. _Come on, asshole_ , he thinks. _Wake up. I'm sure you're having lots of fun frolicking around in heaven or whatever, but I want you back here, so tough luck._

For Eddie, gasping back to life is a shock, like being drenched with cold water; his heart jumpstarts and makes him leap up into a sitting position. "Ah! What?!" he cries out with a scratchy voice, taking in his surroundings. His gaze softens when it falls on Richie. "Oh, great, it's you again. Thought I'd managed to escape you for good this time."

"Yeah, I'm too cunning for that." Richie winks.

"Fuck you, where'd _you_ learn the word 'cunning?'" 

"I'm not stupid! I read... books! I read books!" He crosses his arms. "I ran circles around you in every class back when we were kids. I was a child prodigy."

"First of all, no. Second of all, that was back _then,_ I'm talking about _now,_ " says Eddie. Fuck, he'd missed this banter. "I bet the only reading you do now is your scripts for your shitty-ass comedy!" He grins, satisfied.

Richie scoffs. "Well, why don't you become my writer? Do you think you can do better?" But as soon as the words are out of his mouth they taste sour. For a second there, he'd forgotten about everything. For one stupid, naive second, he'd seriously believed that maybe Eddie _could_ become his writer. And then he'd taken one look at Eddie's pale skin and slightly sunken cheeks and remembered _oh yeah, he's fucking dead and within a week or two I'll never be able to see him or speak to him again._ Richie's voice cracks as he says "Shit, Eddie, I... I wish you actually could."

"Me too." Eddie half smiles; half holds back tears. "I wish we could be, like, happy or something. Together." His words grow quiet. "I'd date you, you know. If things were different."

"Who says they have to be different?" asks Richie, sniffling. He takes Eddie's hands. _Fuck that musty clown and this musty town, and absolutely fuck 'dirty little secrets,' once and for all._ "Eds my love, will you be my boyfriend?"

And he knows it's moving too fast, he knows that under normal circumstances he'd scare away whoever was willing to love him like this. But with Eddie it's okay. With Eddie, it's always been okay. They only have two weeks at most - and even Richie knows that's unrealistic - before his body can't produce blood faster than he's getting rid of it. One of the other Losers would take over if they could, but it has to be Richie. Richie was the last person to see and touch Eddie while he was alive, therefore Richie's blood is the only type that can be used in the ritual.

"Really? You'd want that?" Eddie's eyes are wide and fearful, disbelieving. _Myra wouldn't do this,_ he thinks distastefully. _Myra wouldn't be willing to date me when I'm undead and when I'll be gone for good in a week._

"Of course." Richie gives him a tender kiss. "Eds, I've wanted this for thirty years."

Eddie gathers Richie into his arms, shaking as he cries. _"Yes,_ I'll be your boyfriend, fuckhead." He cuddles close. He can feel his tears dampening Richie's ugly pajama shirt but he doesn't have it in him to care. More than anything, he wishes that this could be real, be _permanent;_ that he could move in with Richie and they could go on dates every week and he would be able to live for even just another month. _Please, that's all I want. I wasted my entire life being weak and scared, and now that I'm finally brave, it's all getting ripped away from me._ "This isn't fucking fair, though. We don't deserve this. Everyone else got their happy ending, but you and Stan and I got the short end of the stick."

"Eds," Richie says gently. "Hey. Shh. I know, you're right, it _isn't_ fucking fair. None of this is. You speared a clown like the badass you are and got-" He chokes on the sentence, a lump in his throat, unable to make himself say it. _Eddie died even though he was the bravest one out of all of us, meanwhile, I'm still alive even though I was stupid and got caught in the Deadlights._ _I should be the undead one._

"Let's go on a date," mumbles Eddie. "Let's go to the beach."

Wiping his nose on his sleeve, Richie says "Ninki Minjaj" because things are getting too emotional and he's just itching to ruin the moment.

"The fuck does that mean?"

"It's a Vine! You know, 'road work ahead?' 'Fre sha voca do?' 'Ms. Keisha?'" When Eddie still looks confused, Richie's mouth falls open. "Come on, Eds - you've _never_ seen a Vine?! Wow. We are watching some when we get back from this date. The beach is a perfect idea, by the way. It has almost as many crabs as your mom." He stands up, dodging a hit. "Okay, let's go!" 

* * *

They decide on Sandy Point Beach. As they walk down the shore, Eddie finds Richie's hand and grabs it tightly.

Richie breaks the silence after several minutes. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For letting you die alone." He stops walking and stares down at his feet. "It was the dumbest thing I've ever done. I thought... I thought that if I went and killed It then you'd, like, magically heal or some shit. But you didn't. I- I left you to die, and I'm so fucking sorry, Eddie."

Eddie doesn't say 'it's okay' because it really isn't okay. He could never hold it against Richie, he knows Richie did what he thought he had to do, but... dying alone was terrifying. He'd been lying against the sharp rocks on the cave wall, lungs filling with blood as he whispered apologies over and over to the cave ceiling. "Thanks," he says softly. "You don't need to apologize for that now, though. I'm back and we're together."

"Yeah." Richie feels tears stab at his eyes. He puts an arm around the small of Eddie's back, pulling his trembling frame close. There's a sense of rightness whenever they're touching; there has been ever since they were kids. "Eds, I... I can't believe we forgot. First Bev left, and then Stan, and neither of them wrote even though they promised, and- fuck, we _knew_ what was gonna happen, but we still couldn't stop it. I went to college and kept a photo of me and you taped to my wall for weeks, even after didn't recognize you anymore. Then one day it fell behind my bed and I never saw it again. How could I forget you? How could I forget _this?_ " He hooks his chin over Eddie's head. _How could I forget your stupid brown puppy dog eyes, and your dimples, and your_ laugh _\- god, your fucking laugh. I loved you even before I knew what love was._

_Oh, that was so poetic. I should write my own poetry book._

"You know the song 'Perfect?'" he asks, starting to gently rock from side to side with Eddie in his arms.

"By Ed Sheeran?" Eddie moves too. His feet sink into the sand. "Yeah, Myra loves him."

Richie allows the tears to fall. "We should do that. Dance in the dark, I mean. And we can look at the stars and shit. It's so cheesy and romantic, it'll be great." A light breeze ruffles his hair.

"We should?" Eddie asks, and in this moment more than any other, he is overcome by love. "Can we please also watch the sunrise? I've... I've always wanted to do that, but I never got the chance."

"Hm," hums Richie. "You know what? Let's make you a bucket list, Eds. Tell me everything you want to do before you- I mean, before it's over- and we'll do them." He pulls away from the embrace, but keeps one hand between Eddie's shoulder blades.

Eddie looks up at him, breath catching in his throat. Before he knows it he's crying again. "I- I want to go to the fair," he breathes, when he finally finds his voice. "My Ma never let me because she said the rides were too dangerous and the food was too unhealthy. I... want to get ice cream together like we did when we were kids." The more things he says, the more ideas come to him. "I want to jump off the quarry with you, and watch a movie with you, and sing karaoke with you. I want to make a sandcastle, I haven't done that in so long. I want to get green highlights. I want to jump in mud puddles because my Ma always said I'd catch a cold. I want to paint something - I've never painted anything! I want to bake some cookies. I want to write letters to everyone. I want to _kiss_ you on top of a _goddamn Ferris wheel,_ Rich!" His heart burns with desire.

"Done." Richie kisses the tip of Eddie's nose, making him blush. "I promise you, Eds, we will do all of those things. I don't care what it takes. You deserve this more than anyone." 

Eddie catches his breath, realizing he'd almost been shouting. "I do? Why?"

"You saved me." Richie takes his hand once more. "You've always been the bravest. You... you died for me, for all of us. So of course you deserve to be happy. It shouldn't have ended the way it did." He helps Eddie down into a crouching position. "Look, let's start with a sandcastle. We'll make the best damn sandcastle there ever was, with a- with a moat, and a seashell walkway, and a drawbridge. And seaweed on top. Alright?"

"Alright," says Eddie. He tentatively touches the sand, scooping a base mound and smoothing it out. A smile grows on his face as he remembers coming to the beach when he was seventeen, sneaking here with Richie - his Ma never let him; she'd say _the ocean is dangerous, Eddie-bear, and you could drown! sometimes the bottom just drops out from under you, or you could get caught in a riptide! your Aunt Bessie's friend died that way! -_ and Richie'd taught him how to bodyboard. Eddie hadn't been very good at it, but he kept trying because it was so electric whenever Richie would put his hands on Eddie's shoulders and carefully guide him along. Eventually he'd managed to ride an entire wave all the way to shore. They had celebrated with smoothies afterward at Jon-Jon's Smoothie Shack. 

Eddie had wanted to kiss Richie so badly.

It would have been so easy to do. Richie's eyes were sparkling; he was on his knees in the booth, clapping Eddie on the back with one hand and pumping his other in the air. "To Eddie Spaghetti, the bodyboarding champion!" he'd crowed. "Pretty soon we'll be seeing you in the Olympics!"

That was one of the last nights he and Richie had spent together before Eddie left for college. 

He looks down at the sad sandcastle, using a thin piece of driftwood to carve out a door and poke windows. If he'd kissed Richie back then, maybe they wouldn't have forgotten. Maybe they would have come back to Derry stronger. Maybe he wouldn't have died.

"Are you okay, Eds?" Richie rests a lingering hand on Eddie's arm, rubbing with his thumb to try his best to give comfort.

"I think so," sighs Eddie. He leans his head against Richie's shoulder. The sandcastle looks lame and boring, but it's a sandcastle, and it was fun to build. _I made that_ , Eddie thinks as he looks down at it. _I made that. I didn't need my Ma or Myra to coddle me or tell me that I couldn't._ A sense of indifference settles over him; he realizes that he's not going to make any effort to reach out to Myra before he dies for good. He supposes that one of the letters he'll write will be to her, but it will be short and to the point - it will tell her that he is gay and dead, because by the time she gets it he will be. (Dead, that is. He's already gay.)

Richie whistles. "Wow, look at that castle! I think our architect skills rival Haystack's, don't you?" He waits with bated breath until Eddie finally relaxes, face breaking into an easy smile.

"Sure," Eddie says. "Whatever you need to tell yourself."

* * *

They stop for ice cream. Richie orders two scoops of triple chocolate, with chocolate sauce, sprinkles, and Oreo pieces. Eddie deliberates over the menu for five minutes before deciding on one scoop of Neapolitan.

"That's so boring!" Richie cries. 

"Fuck you," says Eddie. "It's exciting. Three flavors in one! I'm not getting the diabetes monstrosity that you have. That thing probably has like fifty thousand calories." He almost adds on _don't make fun of me for not wanting to die young,_ but then he remembers _oh yeah, I_ am _dying young no matter what I do,_ so instead he says: "Actually, you know what, Rich? Can I please try a bite of that?"

Richie transfers a very generous amount of his ice cream into Eddie's cup. "There ya go, Eds." Then he steals a spoonful of Eddie's ice cream. "And that's my tax."

"Hey, asshole!" Eddie steps on his foot. "I didn't say you could take any of mine."

"But it's only fair," says Richie, pouting; he holds up his cone and licks around the edge to catch the drips. "Where do you want to eat this?"

Eddie looks around. "Why not over by Paul? There're benches." He points to the looming statue of Paul Bunyan in the distance.

"Uh." Richie pales, heart thudding. _Didja miss me, Richie?_ says the clown in his head, but it's only an echo. _'Cause I missed you!_ "Maybe not?" It taunts him still, singing _dirty little secret_ in Its awful voice.

"Why, what's up?"

He scrubs at his face with his free hand. "I'm kinda scared shitless by that thing after the clown used it to traumatize me not once, but _twice -_ as a kid that summer, and also the other day when we were all out getting our artifacts. It perched on the shoulder and made fun of me for being gay." Richie shrugs, ready to change the subject, but Eddie stops him with a hand on his wrist.

"Hey," he says quietly. "It's gone. It's dead. It can't make fun of you anymore. If we go eat by the statue, I'll be right by your side the whole time. I promise nothing can hurt you there. Is that okay?" His eyes search Richie's gaze.

Richie sniffs, scrunching up his nose, and then blows out a breath. "Yeah. I guess. Thanks, Eds."

A lot of the benches are covered in bird shit, but he finds a clean one with minimal searching. Patting the seat next to him, he waves Eddie over. 

"It's clean, don't worry," he says, when he sees Eddie scanning the wood. "I know how you like your benches."

And that's such a small thing - Richie making sure their bench doesn't have bird shit on it - but it makes Eddie feel warm inside. "Thank you," he says, sitting down and moving his ice cream around with his spoon. It's starting to melt; pink and white and brown swirl into a muddy gray, combining with Richie's chocolate abomination to make an unappetizing slush. He eats it anyway and it's not half bad. "I... I really appreciate you being here for me today... and in general. You help me without being overbearing like my mother and Myra. It means a lot, Rich." Eddie spoons some more of the ice cream soup in his mouth to keep from crying.

"I'm always here for you." Richie moves his cone to his left hand, reaching out with his right and curling his pinky finger over Eddie's. "That's what friends do. That's what _boyfriends_ do." He bites his ice cream and instantly regrets it. "Fuck, sensitive teeth!"

Eddie smiles fondly. His head pounds as he tries not to burst into tears. It hits him again that a week from now he will be permanently dead, that he won't be able to see, hold, or talk to Richie ever again. "I love you," he whispers. 

"I love you too," says Richie without hesitation, his voice wavering. He gives Eddie a longing glance. They kiss, and it's messy, because both of their mouths are sticky with ice cream - but imperfection is what makes it good. 

When their ice creams are done they throw away the trash and drive slowly back to the Townhouse. Eddie watches out the window, lost in thought. He tries to be on the lookout for sites that remind him of his childhood so he can add them to his bucket list. The drive is silent for the first half, but then Richie turns on the radio and they're both greeted by _Africa_ playing at full volume. 

"Oh, shit!" Richie exclaims, almost swerving off the road. He regains his composure and turns the music down a little bit. An idea dawns on him. "Hey, Eds, what do you say we do some karaoke now?"

So they sing, loudly, probably drawing the ire of Derry's townspeople. The sun is setting and the windows are down and Eddie is _happy._

> "It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you  
>  There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do  
>  I bless the rains down in Africa  
>  Gonna take some time to do the things we never had..."

The two of them arrive at the Townhouse at 9:56 PM, laughing and stumbling into the warm lobby. 

"Richie! Eddie!" Ben stands up. "We missed you guys. You up for a round of charades?"

One round turns into two, which turns into three, which turns into four, and by then they're all ruddy-cheeked and a bit drunk off of white wine. (Mike wins by a landslide, claiming he's gotten a lot of practice due to charades being well loved by the kids that frequent the library.) So they switch gears and play Cards Against Humanity with a set that Richie pulls out of his suitcase - "It's my emergency pack, I bring it everywhere in case I need a party game for horrible people" - for an hour. Bev and Eddie are tied a majority of the game until Eddie pulls ahead in the end, winning a crown delicately crafted by Bill using paper snagged from the front desk.

The fun stalls a little when Richie can no longer stifle his yawns; Eddie apologizes on his behalf and helps him up the stairs. _It's interesting_ , Eddie thinks. _When we would have sleepovers as kids, Ben would always be the one to fall asleep first. I guess all that ice cream and wine really wore Richie out._ He strips him into boxers and a T-shirt, does the same for himself, and climbs into bed. It ends up that Richie is the little spoon and Eddie is the big spoon, and they are both just fine with that.

Thankfully, Eddie's already fast asleep when his heart stops.


End file.
